Silent Neighbor (Sheila Stone #9)

CHAPTER ONE

The night air whipped through Sheila Stone's open car window as she raced along Highway 50, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The road stretched before her, an endless ribbon of asphalt illuminated by her headlights and the pale glow of the waxing moon.

Eddie Mills. The name echoed in her mind, a mantra of vengeance and justice long delayed. Ten years ago, her mother had been mysteriously murdered—no explanation, no suspects, no leads.

Then, just recently, she—with her father's help—had managed to locate a vehicle seen driving away from their home the night of the murder. Eddie Mills had been driving that vehicle.

It didn't mean he'd killed Sheila's mother. But it sure as hell made him look guilty as sin.

And this time, she wasn't going to let him get away.

Now her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, checking for any sign of the other police vehicles she knew were out there, somewhere in the darkness behind her. She pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator, urging her car faster.

The radio crackled to life. "Sheila, do you copy? This is Finn."

She snatched up the radio. "I copy, Finn. Any sign of him?"

Finn's voice came back, tinged with frustration. "Negative. Highway Patrol lost visual about ten minutes ago. He could be anywhere by now."

Sheila bit back a curse. "He can't have just vanished. Keep searching. I'm heading east toward the state line."

"Roger that. Be careful, Sheila. Mills is dangerous."

She didn't bother to respond. Of course, Mills was dangerous. He had killed her mother, of which Sheila felt certain. He'd been the one driving the vehicle that had left the house that night.

The question was, why had he done it?

As she drove, memories of her mother flooded back. Henrietta Stone, with her gentle smile and quiet strength. The way she'd brush Sheila's hair before bed, humming softly. The pride in her eyes when Sheila won her first kickboxing match.

And then, the crushing silence that fell over their home after her death, the unspoken grief that had driven wedges between the surviving members of the Stone family.

Sheila's grip on the steering wheel tightened. She wouldn't let Mills slip away. Not now, not when she was so close.

The radio crackled again. This time, it was another officer's voice. "All units, be advised. We've received a report of an abandoned vehicle matching Mills' description. Location is outside Coldwater Lumberyard, off Route 7."

Sheila's heart leapt. "This is Deputy Stone. I'm en route to the lumberyard. Tell all units to hold position until I arrive."

"Copy that, Deputy Stone."

Sheila made a sharp turn, tires squealing as she changed course. The lumberyard wasn't far, maybe ten minutes if she pushed it. She flipped on her sirens, the wailing cutting through the quiet night.

As she approached the lumberyard, Sheila killed the sirens and slowed down. The hulking silhouette of the lumber mill loomed against the starry sky, a maze of conveyor belts and stacks of timber casting long shadows in the moonlight. She pulled up next to an old sedan parked haphazardly near the entrance.

Mills' vehicle.

Sheila got out, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her holstered weapon. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut wood and machine oil. In the distance, she could hear the soft lapping of the Great Salt Lake against the shore.

Another car pulled up, and Finn stepped out, his expression grim. "Any sign of him?"

Sheila shook her head. "Just got here. The car's still warm, though. He can't be far."

Finn nodded, drawing his weapon. "We should wait for backup."

But Sheila was already moving toward the entrance of the lumberyard. "There's no time. He could slip away again."

With a resigned sigh, Finn followed her. They moved cautiously into the yard, their footsteps crunching on sawdust and wood chips. Stacks of lumber created a labyrinth of narrow pathways, and the shadows seemed to shift and dance in the dim light.

Sheila's senses were on high alert, every nerve tingling with anticipation. She could hear her own breathing, shallow and quick, and the faint rustle of Finn moving behind her. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement.

They reached a large warehouse, its metal walls looming ominously in the darkness. Sheila gestured for Finn to circle around while she approached the front entrance. As she neared the door, she noticed it was slightly ajar.

Taking a deep breath, Sheila pushed the door open, wincing at the loud creak of rusty hinges. She stepped inside, her eyes struggling to adjust to the even deeper darkness within. The air was stale and heavy with the scent of sawdust and machine oil.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Before she could react, a dark figure lunged at her from behind a stack of crates. Sheila caught a glimpse of something metallic swinging toward her head.

Years of kickboxing training kicked in. Sheila ducked, feeling the whoosh of air as the weapon—a crowbar, she realized—passed inches above her head. She pivoted, driving her elbow into her attacker's solar plexus.

The man—Mills, it had to be Mills—grunted in pain but didn't go down. He swung the crowbar again, and this time Sheila couldn't completely dodge it. The metal connected with her shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down her arm.

Gritting her teeth, Sheila lashed out with a roundhouse kick, her foot connecting solidly with Mills' wrist. The crowbar clattered to the floor. Mills lunged for it, but Sheila was faster. She tackled him, using her momentum to drive them both to the ground.

They grappled on the dusty floor, Mills trying to break free while Sheila fought to subdue him. He was strong, but Sheila's training gave her the edge. She managed to flip him onto his stomach, wrenching his arms behind his back.

"Eddie Mills," she panted, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, "you're under arrest for the murder of Henrietta Stone."

Mills went still beneath her. Then, in a voice rough with exertion, he said, "I want a lawyer."

Finn burst in, weapon drawn, taking in the scene before him. "Sheila! Are you alright?"

Sheila nodded, not taking her eyes off Mills as she cuffed him. "I'm fine. We got him, Finn. We finally got him."

As they led Mills out to the waiting police cars, Sheila felt a mix of emotions swirling within her. Relief, triumph, but also a nagging uncertainty. Mills hadn't confessed.

The hard part was still to come.

***

Sheila rubbed her aching shoulder as she paced the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department hallway, mere feet from the door of the interrogation room. Through the one-way glass, she could see Eddie Mills slumped at the table, his face impassive. A man in a crisp suit sat beside him—his lawyer, no doubt. Mills looked smaller somehow, less threatening than the specter that had haunted her thoughts for so many years.

But Sheila knew appearances could be deceiving. This man had taken her mother from her, had torn her family apart. She was sure of it.

Finn approached her, two cups of coffee in his hands. The sight of him brought a small measure of calm to her churning emotions.

"Thought you could use this," Finn said, offering her one of the cups.

Sheila accepted it gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. "Thanks," she murmured, taking a sip. The hot liquid scalded her tongue, but she welcomed the sensation. It helped ground her in the moment.

Finn's eyes were full of concern as he studied her face. "How are you holding up?"

Sheila shrugged, wincing slightly as the movement aggravated her injured shoulder. "I'll be better once I can get in there and talk to him."

Before Finn could respond, the door to the interrogation room opened and Mills' lawyer stepped out. His expression was neutral, but there was a hint of steel in his eyes as he approached Sheila and Finn.

"Deputy Stone, Deputy Mercer," he said, nodding to each of them in turn. "I'm Gerald Kemp, Mr. Mills' attorney."

Sheila straightened. "Is your client ready to talk?"

Kemp held up a hand. "I understand your eagerness, Deputy, but my client and I aren't going to walk into an ambush. I need more time to consult with Mr. Mills and get a clearer sense of the case."

Sheila felt her frustration mounting. "But—"

"No buts," Kemp said firmly. "Mr. Mills has rights, and I intend to ensure they're respected. We'll be ready to talk when we're ready, and not a moment sooner."

"And when is that going to be?"

The lawyer gave Sheila a thin smile. "I'll be in touch."

As Kemp turned to re-enter the interrogation room, the reality of the situation sank in. It might be hours, maybe even days, before she was even able to talk with Mills. The truth she'd been chasing for so long was tantalizingly close, yet still out of reach.

Finn placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder. "We'll get our chance, Sheila. But we have to do this by the book. Otherwise, it'll compromise everything."

Sheila nodded, but her eyes never left the door to the interrogation room. She had waited ten years for this moment. What was a few more hours?

Finn cleared his throat. "Listen, Sheila, there's something else we need to discuss."

Sheila turned, her brow furrowing at his tone. "What is it?"

"There's a town meeting tomorrow morning," Finn said. "I think you should be there."

"A town meeting? About what?" Sheila asked, confusion momentarily displacing her fixation on Mills.

Finn hesitated for a moment before answering. "It's about Natalie... and about choosing a new sheriff to replace her."

The words hit Sheila like a physical blow. Natalie. The older sister in whose shadow Sheila had always lived; the sister who had been shot in the line of duty, an injury because of which she'd been confined to a wheelchair; the Olympic kickboxer who, unable to cope with her new limitations, had taken her own life.

And Sheila had been the one who discovered her, no less.

The wound of Sheila's loss was still raw, the grief a constant ache in her chest. And now the town was already moving to replace her?

"It's too soon," Sheila protested.

"I know it feels that way," Finn said, his voice gentle. "But it's been over half a year. The town needs leadership, and we can't leave things in limbo indefinitely."

Sheila closed her eyes, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her: her mother's unsolved murder, Natalie's suicide—and now the possibility of stepping into her sister's shoes, of taking on a responsibility she wasn't sure she was ready for.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Finn watching her, his gaze steady and supportive. "You don't have to decide anything right now," he said. "Just be there, listen to what they have to say. Okay?"

Sheila nodded slowly, her mind whirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. She turned back to the interrogation room, where Mills sat, still and silent. So much hung in the balance.

Justice for her mother. Her own future. The future of Coldwater.

I'll find out what happened, she silently whispered to her mother as she stared at Mills. No matter what it takes, no matter what I have to sacrifice… the truth will come out. I'll make sure of it.